mirror
by Tah the Trickster
Summary: just some miserable speculation on weiss' childhood


It wasn't fair.

It was my first fencing competition. Having been the top of my class since I began my lessons months ago, I'd been expected to win with no trouble. And, for the most part, I did. I'd been training intensely on my own time in addition to my classes, after all, and I showed up ready to show them all that I could take them all on.

I ignored the fact that my parents hadn't come to watch me compete. I ignored that they'd absently assured me that they would attend when I'd asked. And I definitely ignored the hurt that settled into my gut at the realization that they weren't there. My nanny was, yes, but considering that it was her _job_ to watch me…

It wasn't the same.

I digress.

Having worked feverishly at my craft for months on end, studying both my theory books as well as practicing the motions late at night in my room, I was more than prepared to fight my way to the top. That was how the Schnee family did everything, of course. We always won. That was just a fact of life.

I didn't count on my last opponent's blade shattering. And I certainly didn't count on the broken blade piercing through the mesh of my fencing mask, slashing me across the eye.

The competition was brought to a screeching halt. My nanny and fencing coach swept me off to the bathroom to wash the cut out. I tried not to cry at the sting of water and antiseptic on the gash. I think a few tears slipped out regardless when they taped a bandage over the throbbing wound. If they did, nobody said anything. I was grateful. My pride was burning enough already.

By the time we got back out, the judging had already been finished. It was ruled that my opponent had won, apparently—if his blade had broken, it was decided, then it must have hit me first. I accepted my second-place medal with a gracious, pageant-perfect smile. If it wavered at all, nobody noticed.

My nanny ushered me out to the car before photos were taken. It simply wouldn't do to have pictures of the Schnee heiress with her face bandaged and taped up. It wouldn't at all do to have the little angel presented as anything less than perfect._God forbid the wound scars,_ my nanny huffed as we were driven back to the house. _Where would you be then, Weiss? We can't have you out in the media spotlight with a scar over your face! They'll start to _talk_!_

I sank into my seat, my pageant smile still plastered stubbornly over quivering lips. I clutched my medal till the ridged edges left dents in my palm.

When we got back to the house, I was dragged up to the bathroom, stripped of my fencing gear, and ordered to take a shower. _I told them you shouldn't be allowed to take swordfighting lessons,_ my nanny fussed over me as she removed the taped cloth from my eye. It still hurt too much to try to open. _It just isn't _ladylike_! Back in_my_ day…_

I tuned her out, placing my medal carefully on the bathroom counter so it wouldn't get damaged. She finally left as I began to undress. I was littered with deep bruises: violet and vermillion imperfections raised along otherwise pristine, perfect skin.

It was moderately satisfying to see the blemishes.

I would never admit as much.

Regardless, I began the lengthy process of showering. I slowly bathed, shampooed and conditioned my long hair, and began working at sanding away the calluses beginning to form on my hands and feet. The Schnee heiress couldn't be seen with calluses, after all. The Schnee heiress was not _working class._

I shut the shower off and got out. I worked my usual moisturizer into the raw skin, taking my time. I liked the process of showering, even though it took me ages. It was mindless and methodical. I didn't have to think about anything but the task at hand.

Finally I reluctantly pulled my bathrobe on and let my nanny come in to brush my hair. I didn't like how she did so, honestly. She was rough with the brush, yanking my hair when she hit a tangle, and was unapologetic when I cried out. I'd complained once, requesting to brush my own hair, but she'd merely scoffed and informed her that this was her _job, how dare you suggest I don't do my job? I could be fired for not doing my duties! I have three children of my own to support, you know!_

I didn't complain much anymore.

Once my perfect white hair had been perfectly brushed out, my nanny bandaged my eye up again and shooed me off to bed.

For once in my life, I hesitated, clutching my medal. "Actually… May I go show mom and dad my medal?" I requested politely, holding it up in both hands. "Since they… were too busy to show up…" She stared at me. I began to lose my nerve. "I… just thought they might want to see that I… did well…" I trailed off.

An odd assortment of emotions flickered over her face: confusion, surprise, reluctance, before finally settling on what looked almost like sympathy.

She informed me in no uncertain terms that I'd been expected to _win_ my competition, not _place_. I didn't _really_ want to bother my parents with anything less than absolute perfection, did I? After all, they were such _terribly_ busy people.

I wilted at her explanation and forced my pageant smile back onto my face. "No, I suppose not," I agreed faintly. Relief flooded her expression. The edges of my medal against my palms hurt worse than the blade that had gashed my face. "My apologies…"

I retreated to my room in silence.

As soon as my nanny's footsteps faded down the hall, I dragged the stool from my vanity set over to the tall mirror and sat.

Sam, as ever, was waiting for me already. She immediately demanded to know what had happened to my eye.

I tried to smile at her and I knew she could see right through me. "Just a scratch, Einsam," I assured her, voice trembling. "There was an accident. Someone's blade broke and the broken piece scratched me. That's all."

She was outraged with that. Why was someone fighting with such a brittle weapon, anyway?

Sam always knew how I felt. "I don't know. Agnes thinks it might scar." I glanced over my shoulder, as if expecting my nanny to appear out of nowhere. It sometimes felt like she could do that, after all. "I kind of hope it does," I confessed in a whisper. "I don't think mom and dad will put me in anymore pageants if I have a scar on my face."

Sam agreed easily. She didn't like the idea of me being in pageants either. We both knew I hated them. She asked about my competition. I managed a genuine smile, glad that _someone_ cared, at least.

"I was doing well until I got hurt," I informed her, grinning. I held up my medal. "Look, I even got second place!"

She was thrilled for me, congratulating me relentlessly. I smiled until Sam told me that my parents were probably very proud of me as well. I looked down at my prize.

"They didn't come," I admitted softly. "They were too busy. I guess." Sam was incensed. I let her rant for a moment. "It's okay," I assured her. "I know they're busy. I shouldn't bother them. Especially if I didn't even win."

Sam was appalled with me. Didn't I care that my parents were ignoring me? Didn't I care that I was the only competitor whose parents didn't show? Didn't that _bother_me?

I blinked back tears. Yes, it bothered me, of _course_ it bothered me, but I couldn't say that. It wasn't my place to criticize. "That's enough, Einsam," I whispered, voice trembling. She finally realized how upset I was and apologized. "It's alright. But I don't want to talk about it anymore." So long as I didn't talk about it, I didn't have to think about it. So long as I didn't think about it, I could ignore it. So long as I could ignore it, it wouldn't upset me.

I was very good at stepping around things that bothered me.

"I'm going to go to bed," I told Sam, subdued. She apologized again and I smiled weakly at her. "It's okay. You're my friend. My _best_ friend. Of course I forgive you." Einsam was relieved. "I'm sorry you have to stay here for the night." I gestured at the mirror, as though she didn't know what I was talking about.

Sam assured me that it was fine, she liked the mirror.

"I'll try to ask my parents to get us a bunk bed next time I talk to them," I insisted.

Einsam smiled at me. She'd like that. She'd like that a lot. I smiled and returned the stool to my vanity.

With that, I turned my back on the marker drawing on my mirror and went to bed, still grasping desperately at my second place medal.

I'd done a good job today.

I'd fought well.

I did.

I _did_.

_**A/N:**_inspiration taken from angie's headcanon that weiss was so lonely she drew herself a friend on her mirror

for added heartbreak, look up the meaning of "einsam"


End file.
